


touch me (bring me back)

by skyehi



Series: with you i reach for the sky (with you i am grounded) [4]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Continuation, F/F, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 17:38:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6385891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyehi/pseuds/skyehi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa helps Clarke heal, from Bellamy’s words and from the memories. Post 3x05.</p>
            </blockquote>





	touch me (bring me back)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The show and its characters are not mine.

“Something’s wrong with Clarke.”

The edge of panic in Octavia’s voice jars Lexa from sleep, and suddenly she is moving, running. 

In seconds, she’s in Clarke’s tent.

"I've tried everything but I can't wake her up." 

Octavia's voice fades as Lexa kneels beside Clarke. She notes the tension rippling through Clarke's body, her shallow, rapid breathing, the visible pounding of her pulse at the base of her throat, and the tears that mix with sweat as they roll down her cheeks. Lexa has been here before, felt this before. 

Lexa moves to lay a hand on Clarke's shoulder when suddenly Octavia has a tight grip on her wrist. In one fluid motion, Lexa rises and twists Octavia's arm behind her back, immobilizing her.

"Fuck, Lexa, relax!" Octavia hisses, wriggling against the Commander's hold. "I've tried touching her. Every time I do she freaks out."

Lexa mulls this over for a moment and releases Octavia, who grumbles and moves away, rubbing her wrist.

Lexa turns to her. "I believe she is having a _natveida_. I have had them myself. The only way to bring me back was touch. It is difficult at first, but Clarke currently has no other awareness grounded in this world. All of her other senses are bound to the _natveida_."

Octavia regards Lexa warily, an unexpected and fierce protectiveness in her eyes. She nods slightly and Lexa returns her attention to Clarke.

Lexa slowly and carefully frees Clarke from the mess of furs twisted around her. To Octavia's surprise, she begins to sing as she does, a slow, wordless melody. The Commander's voice is unexpectedly beautiful, pure and clear, and even Octavia feels herself calming.

Clarke continues to thrash and cry out, more wildly after the removal of the constraints of the furs. Lexa rummages in a supply bin and pulls out two small cloth objects.

"For her to hold onto," Lexa murmurs to Octavia as she works slowly and carefully to uncurl Clarke's clenched fists. Clarke's nails dig in immediately to the cloth as Lexa fits them against her palms.

Octavia watches as Lexa works methodically, analytically, compassionately, and she thinks about how many times Lexa must have had this done to her, and had to do this to others, to know the steps so well. As she watches the great Commander, her _Heda_ , moves with such care and gentleness, she thinks that perhaps Lexa can be trusted—with protecting _Skaikru_ , and maybe even with Clarke’s heart. 

Lexa tucks a heavier fur around Clarke's torso, starting under her arms and ending at her waist. Clarke resists at first, and each time she disrupts the blanket’s bind, Lexa redoes it. Each time, Clarke quiets a little more. Throughout, Lexa sings, sometimes changing the melody, playing with the sounds, rhythms, and harmonies. Octavia wonders idly if the _natblida_ are trained in music, or if it is not the Commander she is seeing before her, but Lexa.

The heavy fur does wonders for Clarke’s flailing. Octavia approaches Lexa and meets her gaze with curious eyes. 

“The weight of the blanket settles her senses, helps her recognize safety. I did not bind her arms or legs, because it feels like being trapped.” 

Octavia winces at that, flashes of her life under the floorboards unsettling her for a moment. She stumbles as she steps away, and is surprised when a strong arm steadies her, wrapping around her waist. It is Indra, wounded Indra, supporting Octavia with her uninjured arm, and a rush of warmth floods through her at the gesture. They stand together, watching as Lexa surveys Clarke, pausing a moment before seeming to make an internal choice. She moves to sit right next to Clarke, whose body and legs are calming, but whose arms continue to move. Clarke has abandoned the cloth sacks (filled with sand, Lexa told Octavia), and again clenches the bed furs in her fists. As Lexa repeats her earlier actions, gently replacing furs for the soft cloth balls, Octavia is once again struck by Lexa’s patience, no doubt partially the result of intensive training in self-control and self-discipline, but also, Octavia thinks, from Lexa’s innate compassion for others, and especially for Clarke. Though it makes Octavia on edge for reasons she cannot yet pinpoint, it is clear how deeply Lexa cares for Clarke, and Octavia is beginning to see the beauty in it.

They wait, and Clarke's body quiets. She remains trapped in her mind, however, while Lexa’s song mixes with Clarke’s cries with an unexpected synchrony. The dissonance weaves itself into the melody, and in a way, Octavia thinks, makes it complete.

Indra places a hand on Octavia’s arm. “Come. The Commander can handle it from here.” At Octavia’s hesitance, Indra presses her fingers into Octavia’s skin. “ _Okteivia_ , it is okay. Lexa cares very deeply for Clarke’s safety and well-being.” Octavia glances to Indra and nods, submitting to her mentor, and as they turn to leave, she only just catches Indra’s whispered afterthought. “Perhaps more than she cares for her own.”

Indra and Octavia exit, but Lexa’s attention never wanders from Clarke. She observes her breathing, the little movements of her body, the way her blood pulses under her skin, and Lexa _breathes_ , because these things mean Clarke is _alive_ and _safe_ and _here_.

When it feels right—she can’t explain how she knows, she just _does_ —Lexa begins to bring Clarke back. She places her hand over Clarke’s, which still grips the cloth sack. Clarke whimpers and tries to move away, but Lexa keeps gentle pressure there until she quiets. She repeats with the other hand, and slowly brings them together. Working the sacks from Clarke’s grip, she intertwines her fingers with Clarke’s to fill the space. Clarke cries out, eyes screwed shut, and begins to thrash her head around.

“Shh, _ai niron, yu ste klir_ ,” Lexa murmurs, her thumbs tracing circles on the backs of Clarke’s hands. “ _Yu ste kei, Klark. Em ste klir._ ” She waits until Clarke quiets again and becomes accustomed to the touch, and then slowly moves her hands to hold Clarke’s wrists. While she waits for Clarke’s whimpers to cease, she squeezes her wrists gently and repeatedly, slowly increasing pressure until eventually she moves her ministrations to Clarke’s forearms. She repeats this process until she reaches Clarke’s shoulders, and Lexa can tell Clarke is coming back into this world, as she does not protest on Lexa’s last round of squeezes. Her breathing has evened, her heart rate has slowed, and the crying has lessened. 

Lexa comes to kneel beside Clarke. “Wake up, Clarke. You are safe. You are okay.” As she repeats this, she runs her fingers lightly through Clarke’s hair, coaxing her gently from sleep. 

“Oh my God!” 

Clarke shoots straight up in bed so quickly that it knocks Lexa momentarily off balance. Lexa speaks quietly, calmly.

“You are safe. It is okay, Clarke. You are safe.” 

Clarke gaze darts to Lexa’s and she freezes momentarily, eyes wild as they struggle to focus on Lexa’s face. 

“Breathe, Clarke. You are safe. Breathe, _preshon_. Just breathe.”

Clarke takes a breath. _In, out._ And another. _In, out._ As she draws the third, the images from the dream suddenly overwhelm her. Bodies and bodies and bodies, the mountain men and the _trikru_ army; rivers of blood, red and black, running beneath her feet; kill marks, hundreds of them, covering every inch of her skin; and Bellamy’s voice:

_You left everyone._

_People die when you’re in charge._

_You forced us to kill everyone who helped us._

Tears blur her vision and her throat constricts and she can’t breathe, she can’t breathe, she can’t breathe.

She clenches her jaw and grits her teeth against the sobs crawling up her throat like bile, but it doesn’t matter because she is shattering anyway, and she thinks maybe she’ll just keep breaking and breaking, until eventually there’s nothing left.

But then Lexa is there; wrapping Clarke tightly in her arms, smelling of sandalwood soap and of the forest, her breath dancing across Clarke’s skin as she whispers, “ _Yu ste klir, Klark. Yu ste klir, yu laik ogud, en yu ge hod in._ ” 

Clarke tenses in Lexa’s embrace, Bellamy’s voice ringing in her ears. 

_You made a deal with Lexa, who left us in Mount Weather to die._

But the Lexa before her isn't _that_ Lexa. Clarke can see the weight of her regret in the tension she holds in her shoulders, in the heaviness of her gaze each time it connects with Clarke's, and in the way she holds Clarke now, reverently, breathlessly, as though Clarke could slip away again at any moment. This is _her_ Lexa.

Lexa cups her hand against the back of Clarke's neck and scratches lightly, and Clarke _melts_ into her, burying her face in the hollow of her neck. Tears burn hot in her eyes and drop into Lexa's hair, and Clarke draws a shuddering breath.

"Bellamy," she starts, voice cracking, "he said that the _hakeldama_ ," Clarke stops, her voice and her body shaking. "He said it was my fault. That everything was my fault."

Clarke pulls back and catches Lexa's gaze before dropping her head. "I killed everyone, Lexa."

Lexa's arms tighten around her, pulling her into her chest, and Clarke feels Lexa's anger flare, white-hot and powerful, but controlled. Lexa's jaw works and works, she can feel it against her cheek, and Clarke curls tighter against her, tangling her hands in the folds of Lexa’s robe.

"Clarke, Bellamy is wrong." Lexa enunciates each word clearly, firmly. "No one but he is responsible for his actions. He, and the others, took those lives in the most cowardly of ways, and they _alone_ must live with that blood on their hands."

Rivers of black and red flash again into Clarke's mind, and a pained cry catches in her throat. There's so much blood, it's blinding, and all she hears are their cries, their pain, the pain _she_ caused, and--

"Clarke." Like always, Lexa’s voice grounds her.

" _Yu nou laik ripa. Yu laik fisa, gona, en heda._ " Lexa pauses, letting her words take hold. “You are strong and kind, Clarke. You are _good _."__

Lexa tucks her finger under Clarke's chin and taps lightly until Clarke meets her gaze. Clarke’s breath catches at the emotion in Lexa's eyes, and a pleasant shiver runs down her spine as Lexa cups her face with her hand and runs her thumb over her cheek.

" _Yu laik eting, Klark kom Skaikru. Yu laik ai hodnes, ai tombom._ "

**Author's Note:**

>  **Trigedasleng translations** :  
>  _** I did my best with these, but would LOVE corrections and/or suggestions from those who know the language better than I do!**_
> 
>  _Natveida_ : night invader (I made this up, thought it fit [how the Grounders might describe a nightmare/night terror]; I also considered natfiron, “night fear”)
> 
>  _Ai niron_ : my love/loved one
> 
>  _Yu ste klir/em ste klir_ : You are safe/it is safe
> 
>  _Preshon_ : precious/sacred one (I made this up, maybe should/could be spelled as preshwon; I also considered fleimon, “valuable one”)
> 
>  _Yu laik ogud_ : You are good (this is the best I could do—“good” doesn’t seem to have been used yet)
> 
>  _Yu ge hod in_ : You are loved (I think—I tried, wasn’t sure how to turn “love” into “loved”)
> 
>  _Yu nou laik ripa_ : You are not a murderer
> 
>  _Fisa_ : healer
> 
>  _Gona_ : warrior
> 
>  _Yu laik eting_ : You are everything
> 
>  _Ai hodnes, ai tombom_ : my love, my heart


End file.
